


Seeing Sober Since

by EternityCode



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: "Happy Ending.", "happy ending", "happy" ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arsonist, Death, Fire, Going up in Flames, Justice, Love, M/M, Physical Abuse, Revenge, Self-Acceptance, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Time - Freeform, Torture, Vendetta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternityCode/pseuds/EternityCode
Summary: His mouth hangs open in shock, as a thin trail of drool and spit hangs from his teeth and down the tips of his tongue. He's silent and unmoving, purple markings etched into the skin of his neck and wrists and his back is laced down with fishnet cuts as the guttural reaction of a last scream on his face; it's smothered by pain, blank stares and one-thousand conflicted unwillingly.Mello wears the mask of Death tonight, his hands still tied behind his back, his neck still strained against the rope that dug itself under and the remains of his last breath is still in his crushed throat, hitched and ragged.The truth is, he didn't die because he was a killer, it was when he trespassed too far, went too deep into the region of love; he sold his soul for the high, and the Devil came to collect its debt.





	Seeing Sober Since

Seeing Sober Since

 

    His mouth hangs open in shock, as a thin trail of drool and spit hangs from his teeth and down the tips of his tongue. He's silent and unmoving, purple markings etched into the skin of his neck and wrists and his back is laced down with fishnet cuts as the guttural reaction of a last scream on his face; it's smothered by pain, blank stares and one-thousand conflicted unwillingly.  
    Mello wears the mask of Death tonight, his hands still tied behind his back, his neck still strained against the rope that dug itself under and the remains of his last breath is still in his crushed throat, hitched and ragged.

    The truth is, he didn't die because he was a killer, it was when he trespassed too far, went too deep into the region of love; he sold his soul for the high, and the Devil came to collect its debt.

 

~XxX~

 

    Mello's an egoist, a sociopath and a serial killer; he's no lover, and ironically, that was the tipping factor that drove his life over the edge. His murder was brutal; he was cut, tortured and then strangled, but would it be considered actual murder- what laws does it break when he's a murderer himself, when there was a certain amount of consent to his death? What if, Mello was just a sadist with a good taste of masochistic desire who brought it way too far- what if he wanted death; after all, sometimes, death is a blessing with those who are gripped by guilt, resentment or fear?  
    These endless questions no one can answer, it magnifies the terrors of reality and reminds just how human, people can be. The transparency of it all, of human emotion, human life, human desire, is really not that far off, when someone who had defied those emotions and feelings sudden ends up dead- murdered. So when Matt, with trembling hands, picks up the last of Mello's death note and reads the contents, rough scribbles driven with so much point-blank force into the paper, it imprints onto the next scrap, the redhead doesn't know whether to scream, cry, shrug or do something, anything. He knew he should just be standing there like a statue, holding onto the last mysteries of Mello's death; he should probably do something, but he doesn't.  
    Stunned silence comes first, paralyzing him into shocked reality, until he's seeing black and white and red; the truth makes it home, finally the blow sinks, and Matt realizes that Mello isn't coming back, that the man wasn't going to yell at him, wasn't going to hit him with fists encased in black leather- that the Mafisco's dead. Screaming comes next, not because the abuse was gone, he wasn't screaming in confusion and hidden relief, just ten blocks of “why,” and “how,” and “the reason I lived for is dead.”  
    Anger, frustration and chaos breaks his usually lazy and care-free features, and green eyes are as cold as ice; as if they could kill just by gazing. They were sharp, and they went right through; similar to Mello's icy blue; deranged, murderous, crazy, yet a prodigal genius who strayed down the wrong lane of law.  
    Matt grabs the nearest thing (In this case it's a coffee table), and he throws it, with such brutality, that he have broken it before it even impacted with the metallic wall, before its shattered remains rained down from the now dented surface. Wood splinters and glass sparks fly, but Matt doesn't notice, doesn't care as he stumbles over, flipping the bookshelves over, smashing the potted plant repeatedly against those walls, until clay and blood are staining his hands. His rage is soundless, as he just keeps proceeding with no beginning, end or notion; an eternal shamble to keep destroying things, because it hurts, stings and everything in between- his lover was dead, and he couldn't even make the person who killed him suffer, that he had absolutely no control over the situation, and that made him feel so vulnerable on such a deep level, it aches, and it numbs him beyond bone-biting pain. Though Matt always followed Mello's orders without question, it wasn't because he's born submissive, but because he's in love, yet he keeps denying it. Matt's a loner, he prefers his solitude, but when something- someone in this case, caught his attention, he knew that, that was the reason to life; with that stripped away, the man doesn't know if he'll ever recover, because Life works in strange ways and Time was cruel.  
    Time was the driving motive for Mello, and it automatically drove him to his death and Matt just keeps denying that it isn't his fault- that Mello didn't just die for him, because Mello's selfish, and he shamelessly admits it. He's sadistic and vain, and he also doesn't deny that. It isn't right that Mello would throw away his motive and give up the obsession to beat Near that easily for someone replaceable, but somehow, Matt knows it's all true. He know it's true, and the redhead doesn't even have the luxury to fool himself. He doesn't know why, he just knows; maybe, love is the unseen killer, the deadliest drug.  
    His hands tear at Mello's parting words, and he rereads it with burning eyes, his bloody and bruised hands shaking, his whole frame hyperventilating, as his breathing hitches, ragged and feral; a hateful growl crawls from his throat, and it's full of bloodlust and poorly soothed hurt.

 

    Matt, when you read this I'll be long dead. Knowing that I'm going to die one day is funny, but knowing when I'm going to die exactly, it, almost scares me. But knowing, that I died for someone, it's odd, I can't comprehend it. I'm a killer, with regrets; now that's hilarious on its own, but get this: egoistic, sadistic, sociopathic Psychopath drops off the face of Earth willingly. It's both pathetic and cute. Don't know if I should start laughing or crying, but I should probably do something, right?  
    Life can go fuck itself on that note- or finish fucking itself, because it's doing a pretty good goddamn job of it.

    Ps. Matt, do you believe in Hell?

 

                        -Mello

 

    Matt knew it wasn't suicide, it was god-fucking-murder. He was going to find him, and he was going to make him suffer; Mello was too young, hardly innocent but he should not have died despite his actions because the people he killed, they were just... criminals (And a few accidental deaths of those who stood in his way).

    Does that make Mello's death justified?

    Some call it justice. Mello is dead, but Matt calls it murder- and Matt is finally sober now. He finally understood why Mello shunned affection and intimacy and even the mere illusion of love for so long, it was because he knew it was going to be an exploited weakness if he ever fell, and Fate made sure of that.  
    Matt's finally sober now; Mello died because of love, therefore, Mello died because of Matt, and therefore, Matt killed Mello.  
    And Matt finally sees the killer, the beast in his bones. He was being punished, for even hinting at the forbidden subject of love. The killer wasn't the one who tortured Mello, not the one who brought the rope to his neck, it was the motive that killed him, that brought Mello to his knees- the reason he surrendered. Mello surrendered to save Matt, but if he didn't, he would have lived.  
    “Why,” Matt hisses, staring up at the ceiling, his features cold, his blood turned to ice and his heart's made of marble. The man starts to laugh, first a little chuckle, then it spirals out of control; a spree of pants, howls, shrieks and ten pitches of blissful agonized hysterics and delirium.

    He's finally seeing sober now; Matt- Mail Jeevas, is the killer. In fact, he's been seeing sober since before Mello's death; he knew it was coming, he knew he could have stopped the evitable, but he didn't, because he was also selfish and he wanted Mello to love him that badly that he gambled the blond's life.  
    His world is drained down to black and white, and he's breathing in that worrying, choking way, where his breath sometimes abruptly stopped for no reason, and other times, he simply couldn't breath, too shocked by grief and hate to understand; the basic principle of pumping air in and out of his lungs made impossible by the sheer force crushing his beyond nothingness, condensing the pain so much that his heart's in his throat and his sanity is on his sleeve as he lashes out, overturning yet another piece of furniture. He wants to vomit and laugh at the same time- oh the irony! I'm a murderer! Absolutely hysterical!

 

~XxX~  
     
    Matt's down for the count, he's foaming at the mouth, and twitching on the concrete ground, his face caked over with a sheen of sweat. The beating in his ears, the pounding in his heart, they're syncing up, but he can feel the dysfunction- see the dysfunction, and know not long from now, they're going to collapse, and he will no longer wake, crushed into oblivion with the feeling: dread, guilt, hatred and self-loath.  
    He's really not sober, as with shaking hands, he crawls his way over to the slanted coffee table, as he grapples for another bottle but he misses, and the glass shatters, the contents seep into the yellowing carpet, as Matt gasps, twitching and reaching for another one but he keeps missing, each looming within and out of reach, flickering, taunting him; telling him that he was a coward, he was weak, pathetic and selfish. Blood roars in his head, and he just wants – to – die.  
     
    The man collects himself as best he can, limping and groaning as he stumbles out of his apartment, a bottle in hand, the dark circles of sleepless nights and hurt lines the dull green, as visible bruises are seen in various shades of purple. He stumbles away, trying to slip out of reality again, but he can't, so he shambles on, tripping down the darkened street- Love was to blame, Love killed Mello!  
    It was time to set things right once and for all, and Matt was going to make sure of it. The man flings away the bottle where it lands a few foot away with a distinctive crack.  
    Matt doesn't know how long's he been going, crawling, stumbling through the dark. His vision is blurry, hot with tears as he reaches the nearest gas station and Matt stops, the expression of relief, carelessness, forgiveness. He smiles, and it hurts his mouth. He hadn't smiled once ever since four months ago, when Mello was announced tortured and dead.  
    He's on a cotton-candy cloud and he can't come down, floating, as he finds forgiveness for himself. He pushes open the door to the small store stationed at the gas station, as the old man at the counter leers at him, smiling through a cigarette.  
     
    He buys himself a gallon of gasoline and a box of matches, shoving the items onto the counter. Matt thrusts out his wallet, too damn sober to care, as the cashier accepts all four-hundred bills and his ID with confusion on his features. The man begins to tell him, when Matt waves dismissively.  
    “Keep the change, I won't need it anymore,” Matt mumbles, picking up the gasoline as he pockets the matches.

 

~XxX~  
     
     
    He starts running, picking up speed as his tired legs carry him as far as they would allow. He doesn't know how long he's been running, his body straining, screaming for him to stop because they can no longer carry him, and he trips, scraping his knee and the palms of his hand against solid concrete. He keeps going because the wires are pulling; straight to Hell, they damned him, and to Hell he will.  
    He's on the outskirts of the town when he stops, the rustle of night breeze, clarity and trees is putting him into hyper-awareness; he knows what he must to do. There's music in the background, sad and sorrowful filled, yet with a kind of aura that tingles in his fingertips; a warm buzzing in his ears, and he feels soothed, calmed beyond the twilight drama.

    _Tonight we're on the run, while we chase the morning sun. Until our paradise is shown, so we can live forever young. Follow the echoes of our soul, to the edge and far beyond. But no matter where you go, just be sure to make it onto the last train to Paradise. The last train to Paradise._

    _The last train to Paradise...._  
     
     
    He unscrews the cap to the gallon of gasoline, and he douses himself with it, the murky and metallic tang unforgiving against his tongue, his eyes flickering up to the night stars, and he can see them clearly; he's finally sober now, and Matt cracks another pained smile. He sighs, and he relaxes as he hears in the near distance; the shrill of sirens. The cashier must of thought he was suicidal, that one did. He wasn't suicidal, he was setting things right.  
    He takes out the box of matches, and he sparks it like he's been doing for years, and he raises it up to the night sky, the tiny ember burning as bright as any star, and he laughs; it's pure.

    The sirens are close now. It's piercing and Matt stares back and he can see the blinding colors of light. He sees a police shaking her hands, telling to stop whatever he's doing, because there's another way and she's yelling, telling him to hang on, because his life was valuable, but Matt doesn't hear.

 

    He drops the match.

     
    (Set my heart afire, and my body free. Ease my tired mind, and numb the final pain)     
  

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave a like and a comment.
> 
> I take requests on what to write next. ^ ^


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